


A Broken Man's Return

by asimpleline18



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, PTSD Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimpleline18/pseuds/asimpleline18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns to Baker Street a more subdued man and John helps him regain his life in London. In the process, the good doctor is reminded of the love he felt and suppressed before Sherlock's fall. As both men move forward, some of the darker parts of Sherlock's time away come to light and both must stand together to weather the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Walk Through the Door

It was late Sunday morning in 221B and Mrs. Hudson had just been around for Sunday morning tea with John. He was finishing with the paper before he worked on his jobs for the day. He had a few handyman things to do for Mrs. Hudson since she was letting him stay for as much as he could afford.

He was just folding the paper neatly, prioritizing his list when he heard the front door slam and footsteps stomp up the stairs. John sighed. He couldn't understand why Lestrade asked him out on cases after “the incident”. It wasn’t like he picked up Sherlock's deductive skills. He was a damn good doctor but surely there was someone at the NSY who was just as good.

John watched the door slam open but instead of a greying DI barging through, it was a dead consulting detective - well, he was supposed to be dead. John froze and stared at the dark figure.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Sherlock," John replied with disbelief in his voice.

"Yes, I am very much alive," Sherlock responded with an excitement that never accompanied an obvious observation.

That snapped the doctor out of his trance. "You're bloody alive! I bloody buried you three years ago,” he said dangerously, “and you were fucking alive?"

"I can explain-" Sherlock started.

"Oh, right. Yes, explain the past two years away, why don't you? Of course you have an excuse. You probably meant to tell me but forgot the time, huh?" John ranted. He was unconsciously curling and uncurling his fists at his sides.

As John yelled at him, Sherlock lost more and more of the bravado he rushed in with until he started looking lost and out-of-place. He kept trying to interrupt but the other man wasn't having it. When John finally lost steam, Sherlock took his chance and interjected, "I had no choice. It was either I watch you die or I die myself."

"Oh, so that's it? I mourned for you. We all mourned for you!" the other man snapped.

"It was that or I would be mourning you!" Sherlock pushed back "You and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade! Moriarty has his guns pointed at you! I did the best I could with what time and resources I had!"

John went quiet. It shouldn't surprise him that Moriarty forced Sherlock's hand but he just couldn't wrap his head around it. "I'm going out," he declared quietly.

"What? You yell at me but I finally say something and you can't handle it?" the detective shouted.

"I- No. I can't handle this. My best friend just came back from the dead telling me he did it because I would be dead otherwise? You are damn right I can't handle it," John said gravely as he pulled on his coat. "Just- Feel free to stay here. I just - I just need to process everything. I'll be back in an hour or so. I-  yeah."

He rushed out the door. John took a large breath when he let himself out the front door and made his way down Baker Street while Sherlock watched from the window.

\-----

When John wearily stepped back into 221B two hours later, he was carrying groceries, Chinese takeaway, and a bottle of scotch. He was a little surprised to see that the detective had stayed. It was more startling to see him back in the flat, crouched in his chair like he was in the middle of a case. John realized Sherlock hadn't planned to stay long as he still had his coat wrapped around him.

The doctor walked past Sherlock silently in order to find some plates for their lunch and tumblers for the drink they were going to need in order to get through this conversation. He arranged everything on the clean but experiment-marked table. He waited until the last possible moment to reappear in the sitting room doorway and beckoned Sherlock to eat.

"What? That's it. You yell at me when I show up at your doorstep, walk out on me, and then feed me," the detective said darkly as he remained curled up in the chair.

John's anger had mostly dissipated at this point and was left feeling a bit empty. "I'm still angry. I just don't know what to do, Sherlock. You were dead this morning and now you're sitting in my - our front room. How would you have handled the situation?"

"Probably just as poorly," the dark-haired man answered grudgingly.

"Come and eat. We should probably talk about this," John said as he returned to the kitchen and sat in his place.

Sherlock soon joined him as soon as he relinquished his coat. They started eating in silence. John had never seen Sherlock eat as fast as he was now and it looked like the detective was trying to restrain himself. Sherlock also reached for more before John was even halfway through his portion.

"You know, I have never ever watched you reach for seconds. Usually, I'm picking food off your plate because you barely touch it," John commented as he took a sip of his drink. He needed to down his first glass before starting into their much-needed conversation.

The brunette looked at him with a startled expression and put down the plastic box he was busily emptying a moment before. "Sorry."

John waved his chop sticks. "No, no. Eat. You probably need the nutrition. Well, whatever nutrition this can offer anyway."

The other man went back to emptying more food onto his plate but with less vigour than before. They continued eating and John refilled their drinks periodically. Finally, the ex-soldier felt it was time to start or they were never going to get through this.

"Sherlock, I just-" he started, "I just want to know one thing before you start explaining everything. Why did you make me watch?"

Sherlock inspected his food for a moment before saying, "You weren't supposed to. It briefly crossed my mind that it could happen but it was not meant to happen at all. For that, I am deeply sorry. I called because I had to stall you in that exact spot or you would have otherwise ruined the plan. Of everyone targeted, you were the one who needed to believe it the most."

"Oh," the blond said lamely.

Sherlock's lips tried to curl into a smile. "Unpredictable John Watson almost ruined my carefully laid plans."

"That's uh - That's all I really wanted to know, then," John said, now realizing how closely he came to death without knowing it. "Everything else is up to you I suppose. I wouldn't mind hearing what you've been doing for the last two years but..."

The detective took a gulp of his drink and started, "I've been dismantling Moriarty's web. It would have run without him and you may have been safe without me doing so but I didn't know if he put the word out about me. Besides Mycroft, I was the only one who could take it down."

"So who knew?" John took a swig of his own drink.

"Mycroft obviously. It would have been harder to travel without his help. Molly helped arrange-"

"I should have figured out that one!” the doctor interrupted.”She’s barely talked to me since you jumped.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry about that. She wasn't being targeted by Moriarty so that made her the perfect accomplice and there were a few of my homeless network."

"Your homeless network?"

"Yes. Those weren't bystanders on the pavement."

John rubbed his face with a weary hand. "Alright. Where have you been these past two years then?"

"Europe, Asia, northern Africa. There was the odd trip to the Americas," Sherlock took a drink. "It may have been an international web but, by no means, was it a global one."

They had migrated to their armchairs in front of the fireplace. John nudged Sherlock's foot with his. "Well, tell me about it. I have time."

\-----

John lay awake that night staring at the ceiling of Sherlock's room. He may have moved in after the detective jumped, but it was never "John's room". Sherlock finished his story after dinner and John took pity on the detective who was drunk in addition to being exhausted and sent him up to his old room for the night. John stayed up trying process everything. Now, he, too, was trying to get some sleep because he too was drunk and tired but he just couldn't get his brain to be quiet enough to fall asleep.

Suddenly, there was a thump from the room above him. He thought Sherlock may have hit something since he was in an unfamiliar bedroom. John, once again, tried going to sleep when he heard another thump and a yelp. The doctor strained to hear anything else and his patience was rewarded with a few pained moans. Of course he knew what was happening. It was what happened to him after returning to civilian life. He would be surprised if Sherlock didn't have PTSD after listening to the chain of events that occurred over the past two years. He even thought the man left out information.

He got out of bed and put on his dressing gown as he heard more noise coming from upstairs. Even if Sherlock startled himself awake, he might want someone there. John ran up the stairs and knocked on the door. He heard another yelp and something that was close to a scream. The doctor opened the door slowly and walked to the bed where the detective was thrashing against the sheets and blankets tangled around him.

"Sherlock!" John said loudly and went to shake the man's shoulder but was ready to pull back in case he took a swing at the doctor. "Sherlock! Wake up! You're having a nightmare."

The detective's eyes shot open and made John jump back from an unsuccessful punch. "It's okay," John soothed as the frantic man looked around the unfamiliar room, "It was a nightmare. You're back at Baker Street in my old bedroom. It's me, John. Just breathe, Sherlock."

Sherlock slumped as soon as John's words made their way past the panic. The detective took slow, deliberate breaths as he covered his face with his hands. John knew what was going to come next and wasn't too keen on sticking around for the awkwardness it would cause. "Do you need a glass of water or anything?"

"No," came the muffled reply.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No," he said again, sounding watery.

"Alright," John said lamely. "I'll just be downstairs if you need me. Tea usually helps me.”

Sherlock just nodded and John used that to escape the tense room. He shut the door and stood there for a moment. There were heavy breaths and quiet sobbing coming from the other side. As much as he wanted to help the detective through it, he also knew how hard it is to let someone else in long enough to help. He could have gone down and made the tea he suggested but he bypassed the kitchen to go to his room like a coward. As John continued his struggle with sleep, he heard Sherlock come downstairs and make himself tea. It was to these sounds that John finally found slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised and Britpicked with the help of Hamstermoon! Enjoy!


	2. I Wasn't Planning a Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking into 221B seems like the easy part in hindsight. Now, John is asking for Sherlock's plans now that he's back; plans which the detective neglected to make because he hadn't known if he would have a future with John at Baker Street.

In the morning, both men had pounding headaches in addition to not having a good night's sleep. Breakfast was the furthest thing from their minds but John made some scrambled eggs just to put something into their stomachs. Sherlock lounged on the sofa while John pulled Sherlock's chair closer to put his feet up. Both had a cup of tea at hand as well as some water. "What are your plans?" John asked, rolling his head toward his companion.

"I don’t know. I didn't expect to make it this far."

"Are you expecting to move back in here?" John asked, surprising himself at the rate he was letting Sherlock back into his life.

"Like I said, I didn't expect to make it this far."

"Fine. Do you want to move back into Baker Street?"

"Yes."

"Where have you been living?" Sherlock has devolved to one word answers and repeating himself which signalled to John that he wasn't interested in either this conversation or maybe any conversation at all.

"Mycroft's London flat."

John was getting tired of Sherlock's short answers. He sat up and stared at the man lying prone on the sofa. "Sherlock, you’ve got to give me something here. It might be moving a bit too fast but you’ll probably want to return to your old life eventually, correct?"

"That was the plan."

"See! You do have a plan. What is it?"

Sherlock sat up quickly and immediately reeled due to his hangover, but didn't dampen the severity of his speech. "I don't know! I’ve just got back to London this week. I only returned to Baker Street yesterday. You're still angry and wary of me. You want to let me back in but aren't sure if it's going to work. You don't know if you can take the whirlwind that is me again. You're saying one thing but your body language is screaming another!"

"Oh."

"Oh, bloody right!" Sherlock mocked loudly as he flopped back down and turned toward the cushions.

"Sherlock-" John called but that just made the detective scrunch his body into a smaller space. "Sherlock."

"What, John? I can tell what's going through your head. Because I have deduced you, you now feel guilt which you think you will override if you offer to help me which I don't need, thank you very much. I am a grown man who has been on the run for the past two years with the limited help of his older brother. I doubt you can be much of a help at the moment," Sherlock said sharply into the cushion.

John just stood and marched to the bedroom. "Fine," he said changing out of his pyjamas.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock called as he sat up from his sulking position.

"Out," the other man said as he exited the room.

"You did that last night," the detective accused.

"And I'm doing it now, and I'm going to keep doing it because sometimes you are so insufferable!" he said angrily.

Sherlock stared blankly at him, almost looking vulnerable. "Don't you dare," John hissed.

"Dare to do what?" Sherlock asked, now getting angry.

"Give me that look! You came back from the dead less than twenty-four hours ago and I'm ready to let you back into my life and what do I get? I get deduced. I get my fears and reservations laid out before me. I forgot what that was like! Instead of quietly handling that information, you use it to poke and prod at me, testing my boundaries!" John yelled. "Decide if you want to be back, Sherlock. I'm giving you the chance to resume where we left off but if you can't make that decision, you better not be here by the time I get back!"

John stormed out with a slam of the door. He stomped down the stairs and slammed the front door for good measure.

\-----

Sherlock stayed frozen in a shocked silence for a moment before lying on his back with his hands steepled below his chin. What John said has been plaguing him since he returned to London. In all truth, he's been back for almost two weeks. The first couple of days were spent on getting his injuries sorted and the next few gathering the courage to reveal himself to John.

He knew the answer to John's question. He wanted to come back. He wanted to be part of the living again under his own name. He was scared, terrified even. Sherlock was loath to admit it but the last few years made him more human. He can't disconnect his emotions as easily. If he could, he would have seen John before yesterday. He would have jumped at the chance to move back. He would be arguing with John over experiments and cleanliness instead of his indecision to do anything.

Desperately, Sherlock wished he had something to dull his mind and senses again. He was tempted time and again on the road to return to drugs. Sherlock almost wished he had died on the run just so he didn't have to deal with all this emotion now. What made him think he could just return like he had been on holiday or an out-of-country case?

The detective debated the merits of disappearing again. Maybe John would think it was a dream. Sherlock got to see his companion and that was what he wanted. It should be enough, shouldn't it? John could live his life without interruption and he could maybe find that woman he was always looking for and start a family. What could Sherlock offer him? A man broken by the challenge he took on when he jumped off of St. Bart's roof? He's stubborn, annoying, insufferable, and apathetic. How could John ever return his feelings? For that matter, how could John have even missed him?

Sherlock morals paled in comparison to the doctor's. The most Sherlock could ever do when John had nightmares was play the violin. He couldn't make it up that staircase to John's bedroom. He wouldn't have been able to open the door. Yet, he’d woken John up and instead of turning over and ignoring the noises coming from the bedroom, the doctor and friend in him took those steps. John had woken Sherlock out of the reality where his partner in ‘The Work’ was once again in Moriarty's clutches; where John's life was threatened again by snipers and explosives; where Sherlock watched his friend die at the hands of his enemy.

And, as awkward as it was for him, John offered Sherlock his assistance. He tried to use his own experience to settle the detective down. The doctor told him to breathe, and brought him back from his nightmare. He gave advice and left without exerting any pressure to share his dream.

Sherlock desperately wanted to leave now. Get out before John leaves you, his mind whispered. He can't hurt you if you do the leaving. But he just sat there, debating in his head over and over whether he should stay or go. He was there long enough to hear the front door open and close again, bringing with it footsteps that were unmistakably John Watson's.

When John opened the door, he saw Sherlock's face before the detective could slide his usual mask back. John saw the vulnerability the detective was feeling. He could see the broken man his friend had become. The doctor was sure now that there was more to Sherlock's time away than he was willing to tell and he wanted to push him. This didn't fit Sherlock. This wasn't Sherlock at all. He had to help him without pushing him further than he was willing and John just had to be patient.

"Hey," he said lamely as Sherlock's face became a mask again. He held up the bag he was carrying. "I know it's not healthy but I got takeaway again. I went to Angelo's and got your favourite."

"Not hungry." the detective said with closed eyes.

"You have to eat something. You look to be well below your typical body weight and that's already too thin," John tried to persuade him.

"Let me rephrase that then. If I eat now, it will only come back up in a few minutes," Sherlock snapped. "I don't need you to act like I'm a child now. I survived on my own over the past two years without you nagging me about eating, drinking, or sleeping."

"Right, sorry," John acquiesced.

"What?" Sherlock asked, sharply looking at John.

"I said, 'sorry'. I guess I'm overcompensating again. I'll put this in the fridge for when you're not as nauseous," the doctor said as he did so.

"I-" Sherlock started but didn't know what to say. "I- Sorry. I guess I've been a little on edge and have taken it out on you. It's just- hard being home. I'm used to being alone and looking over my shoulder."

"Sherlock, we're both a little mentally and emotionally off-balance right now. Don't listen to what I said earlier. Take your time. Work out what you want to do on your own time. I have no right to pressure you," John apologized.

"I would- I would like to move back in. I don't have a plan. I know I usually have a plan but I don't for this one. I really, truly didn't expect to make it here. I didn’t want to hope," the detective replied, showing some of his vulnerability.

"Just tell me when and I'll have my stuff moved back upstairs. Until then, I think I'm going to take a nap," the blond said and he disappeared into the bedroom.

Sherlock watched the man go and still wondered how he could have such a short-tempered but steadfast companion even after faking his suicide. He pondered that until, he too, fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Britpicked by Hamstermoon! Many thanks!


	3. Indecisive Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock continue on the emotional roller coaster that began when the detective walked back into 221B. John notices that putting pressure on Sherlock will not make anything better and in the mean time, he starts seeing the damage the past two years has had on his friend's psyche.

Sherlock woke up still wondering what he was going to do. He just had to send word to his brother and he would officially be among the living again.

Well, he would start at the beginning then: moving back into 221B.

Sherlock had noticed the stacked boxes in John's old room and saw they were each neatly labeled with his name and the belongings they contained. John hadn't thrown out his suits though he had no idea about their condition now. Some of his casual clothes were probably tucked away in them so he found his way back up to the dusty bedroom to find something other than the short pajama bottoms and too big T-shirt John loaned him.

Also among the boxes was his lab equipment and various oddities John didn't want hanging around for whatever reasons. He also found all of his disguises and John's military uniform. It seemed all of his belongings were still here. The detective just changed into the musty jeans and T-shirt -- one that actually fit -- and returned downstairs. At some point, John must have ambled out of his bedroom from his nap and was now numbly standing in front of the microwave as he stared at the reheating pasta.

"Afternoon," he said with yawn.

"Hello," Sherlock said slowly.

The drowsy man made a double-take after glancing over at the detective and noticed the unusual clothing. "Don't think I've ever seen you out of your designer shirts and trousers or your three-day-old pajamas and dressing gown," he commented.

"I can wear something other than tailored clothes. I just choose not to," Sherlock answered. "And don't be silly, John. You've seen me in one-day-old pajamas and two-day-old pajamas. They wouldn't become three-day-old pajamas otherwise."

John chuckled and went back to staring at his meal for a few seconds until the microwave beeped. He took it to the kitchen table and started tentatively eating it. Sherlock wasn't sure if he could handle food at the moment or if John was welcome to the companionship they had previously enjoyed. He decided on a cup of tea that would hopefully settle his stomach. He was starting to feel hungry but some of the nausea remained. He did recognize that he needed to follow a more conventional meal schedule now that he was home again.

Sherlock sat across from the doctor and tried to not watch the man eat his meal. John was eating slowly as if he was testing his stomach. He put his fork down and looked Sherlock in the eye, "So, what now?" he asked.

"You keep asking me for answers where I have none. I- urgh!" Sherlock was frustrated again and pulled on his hair. "I don't know. I never thought coming back would be this hard mentally. I don't know why this is affecting me so much. I want to continue living at Baker Street. I want to continue working cases, both private and for the NSY. I just don't know how and I don't understand how I can't know how to go about that."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Sherlock asked incredulously, raising his eyes to John's. "You keep pushing me and all you have to say now is okay?"

"Sherlock, you're not alright. I'm not the kind of doctor to diagnose this but you could have PTSD or some other anxiety disorder. I don't know what the problem actually is, but I may have been somewhere similar. I didn't know what to do when I was invalided home. I was lost, completely and utterly."

Sherlock looked like he was about to argue.

"No, don't. I know you. This isn't your normal strop. I've never seen you this indecisive," John said earnestly. "If everything is too much for you, we'll do it one step at a time. You can deduce whatever guilt I feel about you but first and foremost, you are my best friend. I'm here to help as your friend and not because I feel like I owe you something."

The detective was looking down at his teacup, his face was blank like he was in deep thought about something. "Okay," he said after a few moments.

"Good," the doctor replied. "I'm probably not the one to tell you and I'm certainly not going to make you, but you should think about going to see a therapist. It can help."

"I'm not broken," the other man said weakly but defiantly.

"I'm not saying you are and I'm not saying that you need to be fixed. You're going through a stressful time and I'm just saying that it might help and that's all I'm going to say," John said and dropped it.

Both men receded into their minds. Sherlock sensed a change in his relationship with John. Best friend. He said you are his best friend, his mind echoed. There was also a smaller voice saying, He's been through this before. He could be right about the PTSD. He clearly had it. You know you're showing the symptoms but you're too damn proud to admit it!

John watched his table companion sort through his thoughts. When he saw the tide receding a bit, he said, "So, I believe the first step could be putting you back somewhere you feel comfortable i.e. here. When do you want to move back?"

"I don't know," Sherlock looked to be on the verge of panicking again.

"Hey, Sherlock, breathe. You don't have to give me a date. One step at a time," John said quickly. "I just want a time frame. This week? Next week? In a month or so?"

"I think I'd like to be situated by this time next week," he replied, calming himself a small bit.

"Okay. Now, I can't imagine that you have a lot. As you probably saw, most of your belongings are upstairs. I can work on bringing that downstairs. Is that enough to go on?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. It was enough for now. That still didn't mean he had answers for the next step or the next step or the next step... "Sherlock! Look at me, Sherlock. Breathe. You look like you're over thinking again."

That broke through the haze enough for now. "I can't control it, John." and the detective truly looked panicked.

"What do you need?" John asked and he started desperately searching for something. "Your violin? Would that help? Would music help?"

"No."

"We could go to the morgue. We should go for a walk. Maybe you're feeling claustrophobic."

Sherlock shook his head.

"Are you sure?" John asked. "It's nice out, sunny and not too warm."

"No. I want to stay here."

"Sherlock, I need something to go on. I can't help if you can't find a way to settle down."

The man laid his head down on the table. John stared at the dark mop of curls as the detective shuttered and wheezed. He resorted to the last thing he would ever try with his friend. John reached across the short expanse of the table and put his hand on Sherlock's head. The detective seemed to relax a little and John just kept his hand here, running his fingers through the other man's hair periodically until Sherlock raised his face to look at John.

"Thank you for that," he said sincerely, his blue-green eyes looking watery. "Thank you, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it is update day once again. Thanks, once again to Hamstermoon who is Britpicking this for me. The next chapter is proving hard to write and I haven't been feeling well. This cold weather on the east coast has not been good to me and has been causing headaches close to migraines. May the Muses grant me inspiration in the meantime.


	4. The Rebellion of a Stagnant Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock starts to get restless and John really looks at his flatmate. He realizes how sickly Sherlock looks and tries to start a conversation about it but the consulting detective refuses by starting an argument and storming out of the flat. He visits Lestrade who shows off how well he can decipher Sherlock's deductions now but then voices similar concerns as John.

Sherlock and John watched telly for the rest of the day. Each man sat on his side of the sofa. Sherlock had brought down one of the boxes of his belongings to start sorting through. He was doing an inventory of his clothes to determine what was still wearable and what needed to go to the cleaners. He went back to Mycroft's that night. Both he and John agreed that he shouldn't stay cooped up in Baker Street even if he was going to be cooped up at Mycroft's flat.

\-----

A week later, Sherlock was situated in 221B and experiments in the kitchen were in full swing. That was something John had not missed but like hell he was going to say anything. He just made sure the toxic - well anything experimental - was kept away from anything dealing with food or food preparation. He even went as far as suggesting a small fridge for Sherlock's body parts.

John had taken time off from the surgery but he would go in for short days a few times a week. It only took two weeks for Sherlock to start shouting "Bored!" and tearing the flat apart when John was at work. It didn't help that Sherlock's caseload was sparse. He refused almost all private cases and Lestrade was ordered to go through proper channels before bringing consultants onto crime scenes after the fiasco two years prior. In a fit of childishness, Sherlock refused to answer the other detective's calls when Lestrade wanted to ask him about piece of evidence or a witness statement. The consulting detective even refused the few summons to crime scenes he received.

The doctor just watched Sherlock more and more closely. He let him be as long as Sherlock was performing experiments or otherwise occupying his mind. He assumed Sherlock was trying to catch up on a two year backlog of things he wanted to test since he couldn't do so on the run. John just enjoyed having a second occupant in 221B again.

But as with anything that involves Sherlock, the quiet didn't last long. He quickly burned through experiments and either ran out of things to test or became bored with them in a fortnight. John noted the pallid color of Sherlock's face and the dark bags under his eyes. If the detective was sleeping, he was not sleeping well but John ignored the nagging feeling he had and presumed Sherlock had returned to his old sleeping habits. No matter the day, John went to sleep before the detective and rose to find him already occupying the kitchen or living room in the morning.

He brought it up one afternoon after he spent the morning deciding how to approach it. "Sherlock," John said to the prone figure laying on the sofa. When the detective didn't respond, he walked over to nudge the unresponsive man in case he was deep in his mind palace.

"What?" Sherlock asked, obviously annoyed once John got close.

"I want to talk. You don't look well and I'm a little concerned," he replied.

"I'm fine," the other man answered mulishly.

"No, you're not. I know you, Sherlock," John defended. "You look paler than ever and you haven't been getting enough sleep. It doesn't take a genius detective to see that."

Sherlock turned his back to his concerned friend. He was in pyjamas and his blue silk dressing gown which he pulled tightly around his balled up form. "I'm a grown man," he declared into the back of the sofa. "My transport is just fine, thank you."

John sighed and thought, Grown man, my arse. "Yeah, but transport breaks down if not cared for properly," he grumbled.

Sherlock flipped over and glared at him. "What does it matter to you?" he asked sharply. "I'm your flatmate, not your live-in patient!"

"I agree but you are my friend. Friends protect each other," John replied, now starting to get angry.

The detective sat up. "Oh. Right. That old thing. Where did that get you, John? Do enlighten me. Remind me how you protected me and saved me from jumping off of a roof. Oh, right! You didn't!" he said, raising his voice.

Sherlock hadn't planned to say that. He hadn't even meant to get John riled up but wanted a distraction to throw off the other man. Now, he couldn't go back and he realized what a dangerous game he was playing.

John's face turned to stone. "Right," he said coldly, "So which is the lie? Could I have talked you down or were you going to jump no matter what?"

They were moving into territory that Sherlock had labeled extremely dangerous, definitely not his best effort at sidetracking John. "You know I was dedicated to my path. I explained it to you or can you not remember that?" he said offhandedly.

"No, I remember it perfectly well," John replied. "But you're Sherlock Bloody Holmes! I cannot begin to fathom the shit going on inside your head. It won't have been the first time you lied to someone and I know you're holding back parts of your time away."

"Yes, well. I'm telling the truth now. I was dedicated to my path. I still am. Moriarty bit a bullet. My last chance at walking from the game that day and resuming my life ended in that moment," Sherlock explained sharply anyway.

"But now that I want to talk to you, you feel the need to guilt me, right? You want to throw me off the scent of something. Something's wrong with you, Sherlock, and I will fight with or for you until you get through whatever is going on in that head of yours," the doctor declared. "I'm not going to watch you slow down and destroy yourself. I know you. You can't walk away so easily."

Sherlock was well past done with this conversation. He stalked to his room in spite of John's orders to stay put and before the other man could follow him, Sherlock slammed and locked his bedroom door. The doctor pounded on the wooden barrier while yelling at him to come out. Sherlock, on the other hand, ignored him and got dressed to go out as soon as John settled down. Soon enough, his flatmate retreated and Sherlock exited the room. John was sitting in Sherlock's chair as he seethed and watched the other man put on his coat.

"You scolded me for always walking out in a middle of an argument but now you're doing the same thing," John said bitterly. "Can you even talk things out like an adult or is that only when you're in control of the conversation?"

"You keep telling me to go outside," Sherlock replied coolly as he ignored the second part of John's accusation. "I'm going out and I'm going to make amends with Lestrade. Just what you want, John. Don't wait up."

John just glared at his back as the detective walked out the door.

\-----

Sherlock did end up in Lestrade's office even though he meant it as a lie. He didn't have many other places to go that were not public and he needed to make amends at some point even if he did it begrudgingly. Lestrade let the consulting detective into his office though he was displeased with Sherlock's recent attitude toward him. He pointed out that he had a pile of cold cases for Sherlock to work on off-books. Sherlock, however, found it more rewarding to situate himself on the small sofa in the DI's office without taking off his coat.

"I see you were out with Molly for lunch. It would be polite for me to ask how your relationship is going but I see that it's going well. Both of you have gained a few pounds each and you had a pre-lunch snog in the mortuary when you picked her up. I'm surprised it wasn't anything more but you're both too professional, may I say that's a relief in your case because that's the best thing you have to go on, and it gives you the creeps to shag in a lab let alone one that also houses bodies," Sherlock deduced boredly.

"I will never understand how you do that," Lestrade said.

"Lipstick, wrinkled shirt, stretched belt loop," the dark-haired man explained.

Lestrade though for a moment. "Okay. The lipstick would be a dead giveaway but both Molly and I checked before we left the mortuary."

"Collar. Just a small smudge. You'd have to look for it."

"Ah," the DI realized and added, "Wrinkled shirt. I tried my best but Molly has one hell of a grip sometimes. Wrinkled shirt means gripped hands and in combination with the lipstick, you deduced that we were snogging since it's the middle of the day, you would say it's a relationship and not a one-off. Simple. The weight is simple too. The clue you gave me is dead-on although seeing the belt loop rather than clothing is interesting."

"Correct. It seems like you've been wearing clothing that is too big. Judging from the state of your belt, you didn't have to break in a new loop, you were just returning i.e. you lost weight as a workaholic bachelor," Sherlock filled in. "You've been learning haven't you?"

The DI rolled his eyes. "I was learning before your disappearing act. I just don't get how you can process everything and then pick the relevant clues. Usually, I could connect the clues to their usefulness unless you found something really obscure."

Sherlock snorted.

"I only needed to have you explain the cases where you found those obscure clues. You know very well that my team and I can solve cases well enough," Lestrade said, "I started calling you so much because more and more hard cases came my way because I had you helping to solve them. My team is known for solving the cases no one else could begin to pick apart."

Sherlock sniffed. "Bored."

"Right, your little game is done and you're bored again. What about John? Why isn't he here? You're rarely on a case without him." the detective inquired.

"We aren't talking," Sherlock announced.

"Ah. That's why you're in my office then," Lestrade deadpanned.

Sherlock looked toward the DI. "I don't need you input, detective. I have John bothering me enough; 'Get out of the flat. Find a case. Go for a sodding walk or something.' " he mocked.

"Well, did it ever occur to you that John may be right?"

The consulting detective hesitated. "I'm leaving," he announced before abruptly standing and nonchalantly picked up the pile of cold case files.

Lestrade caught his arm before Sherlock could whip out of the office with that ridiculous coat of his. "There's something wrong. I don't care what it is. I'm here if you want to talk. Ah, ah, ah," he interrupted Sherlock's retort. "I don't care who you talk to, I'm just saying I'm here and I don't expect to be the one you talk to but find someone. There's something off about you since you've come back and it will keep eating away at you until you do something truly drastic. Have a good day."

Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something but decided it was better to run as he had with John.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been the hardest chapter to write so far. I'm horrible at connecting plot points. -dead-
> 
> So. Where has Big Bother been? Isn't it about time for him to make an appearance?
> 
> Now, Britpicked by Hamstermoon.


	5. Making Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meddling brother Mycroft visits John after Sherlock storms out of the flat. He shines some light what could possibly be the most disturbing part of his brother's time away. After Sherlock returns home with some cases, John decides it's not worth discussing at the moment but it is a conversation or argument they will have to have. When it finally comes up, Sherlock is annoyed but ultimately does something that surprises both men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the tags start to come into play. Really it's only mentions and inferences at this point.

As soon as he heard the front door close, John slumped back into the chair. He heard a knock downstairs but he wasn't expecting anyone so he assumed it was for Mrs. Hudson. He didn't notice the footsteps on the stairs.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson," Mycroft greeted as he strode into 221B.

John let out an exasperated sigh. "You know. There is this thing called a doorbell. It announces arrivals. I know Sherlock often tampers with ours but knocking also works."

"Your landlady kindly let me inside," the other man said with a smug smile as he sat in John's chair.

"Yes, but the door to the flat was closed," the doctor replied frostily.

"I have something of great importance to discuss with you," Mycroft started, ignoring John's comment.

"And you conveniently wait until Sherlock is out of the flat," John pointed out. "What could be so important that you passed up the opportunity to taunt your brother?"

"It is about my brother's time away," he answered.

John looked mildly surprised. "Oh."

"I would have been around sooner but you and Sherlock have been cozily situated in each other's presence since his return," the man stated. "As you know, Sherlock has been through many difficult situations in his mission to dismantle James Moriarty's criminal web. I'm concerned about one set of events in particular. Moriarty also survived the rooftop meeting. My team has not been able to determine how but they had found his body with one, Sebastian Moran, in a small cottage outside of Paris last year," Mycroft explained. "What is more surprising was the condition of the bodies upon discovery. Both were found in a basement that contained a large amount of bondage equipment with slit throats and mutilated genitals. Upon further investigation, my brother's DNA was found among others discovered in that basement. However, the bodies matching the other DNA sets were found buried on the property."

"Well, I don't find it surprising that he and his man were found dead. However, their maming would suggest some personal vendetta," John mused.

"Quite right," Mycroft agreed.

John thought further about it. "Are you implying what I think you're implying?" he asked after a moment.

"I don't quite know what you're talking about, John," the other man replied. "I'm just passing along evidence and the knowledge that James Moriarty and his second-in-command are undeniably dead."

"Is that all then?" the doctor glared at his flatmate's brother.

"Quite. Good day, Doctor Watson," Mycroft said loftily as he got up and John followed suit. Sherlock's brother strode to the door and then he turned back to John, "Do be delicate with my brother. He is not in the right mind yet he refuses help. I cannot imagine what he would get into this time if he were pushed too far."

"Noted," John said. "And just knock next time, will you?"

The man just huffed and made his way downstairs and out of Baker Street. John mulled over their conversation as he decided to make tea. He wasn't going anywhere until Sherlock decided to come home and he refused to text the detective to see where he had gone.

Not five minutes after his brother left, Sherlock came stomping up the stairs. He looked around as he walked into 221B and stated, "My brother was here."

"Yep," John agreed taking a sip of his tea. "Talking now, are we?"

"Nope," Sherlock replied, popping the "p".

"Really? No questions about what Mycroft had to say?" he asked as he picked up that day's paper.

The detective dropped the files he had onto the coffee table and took off his coat. "I can deduce it was about me since you obviously want to talk about it even though you want to look aloof right now."

John looked up. "Not unless you have anything you want to say."

"I have nothing to say about my brother's visit," Sherlock replied.

"Fine. It's all fine, Sherlock," John said. "Did Lestrade let you bring those home or did you steal them?" he asked, nodding at the pile of folders.

Sherlock collapsed onto the sofa. "He feels bad that I can't come onto crime scenes whenever he needs me so he gave those as a gift. They should keep me occupied for a day or two."

"Good," John said, looking back at his paper. "You should also actually go to the crime scene summons too now that you've made up with Greg. It'll get you back to what you do best."

"So you say," Sherlock said absently.

\-----

Sherlock seemed to revive a little in the following days. John noticed that the detective would spend a few hours completely focused the cases and then sulk unlike in the past where he would steadily work through the stack until the everything was solved. In some ways, this was better because Sherlock didn't run through the stack in twenty-four hours and was overall less irritated than if he didn't have anything to do. It still took him only three days to solve fifteen mysteries.

The day Sherlock returned the cases to Lestrade, he came home empty handed. John didn't ask whether it was because Lestrade didn't have another stack or if Sherlock refused them. The doctor had been noticing that Sherlock's nightmares were becoming more intense when the detective decided to sleep. He still seemed to avoid it at all costs and would go up to a week without anything but short naps to "reboot his hard drive". Since their last fight, John thought it would be a good idea to let Sherlock initiate any discussions about his nightmares. There were a few nights where the doctor get as far as Sherlock's door but never had the courage to knock.

Instead of broaching the topic again, he suggested sleeping pills as a method to avoid nightmares. Of course, Sherlock had to respond with some snarky comment about "wasting a third of his life away lying unconscious in a bed". However, when John was doing the laundry one day, he did notice a prescription bottle on Sherlock's bedside table.

Another month went by and John continued his job at a local surgery and Sherlock started showing up to Lestrade's crime scenes again, whether he was invited or not. John tried to accompany Sherlock whenever possible and even enjoyed a few chases. Their working relationship fell back in place almost seamlessly unlike their friendship. Though both men were finding it difficult to find conversations that didn't revolve around work, John noticed that Sherlock gravitated toward him more.

After rescuing catching a serial rapist and narrowly rescuing his next victim, Sherlock was noticeably shaken in a way that he had never been before. John quickly made their excuses to Lestrade and promised to come in later that week to make their statements. The duo made their way back to Baker Street and ordered takeaway. Sherlock complained that he wasn't hungry but John had been keeping track of his food intake.

The detective just curled up in his chair with his knees against his chest. John sat across from him with a book and some tea. It seemed like his flatmate was going to be in his mind palace and wouldn't be out until John forced him to have some supper. Sherlock absently nibbled on the chips John handed him once the food arrived. When it seemed like the detective was surfacing from his mind palace, John decided to once again throw himself against the iron will of his flatmate.

"Sherlock," he said, shifting so he was sitting on the edge of his chair. "I think we should talk about what happened during this last case."

The detective turned his mercurial eyes toward his companion. "What about it? I solved it. We got there in time to prevent another victim. I think we did our good job for the day."

"Yeah. We got there. I'm not worried about that, Sherlock. I'm worried about you. I know you know what Mycroft told me," John said carefully.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he lowered his legs to the floor, "Must you keep bringing this up?"

"Yes." John said definitively. "We're flatmates, we're friends, and most of all, I believe we're partners in this together so I refuse to leave it alone."

"I don't have friends, John."

"That's bloody bullshit and you know it. You've got Molly and Lestrade, who would not put up with you otherwise, and you've got me for better or worse," John replied harshly. "Whether I like it or not, this is the best relationship I have in my life and I don't know if I will ever get another chance at something like this. So I will stand by your fucking side until you tell me to leave."

"You've never had a problem leaving before," Sherlock said coldly.

"And I always come back, you prick. I stayed here while you were traipsing around the continent. I picked my life up enough to more forward but I couldn't move on," John blinked away angry tears. "I stayed in this bloody flat surrounded by your bloody things because I couldn't leave and Mycroft left them. I'm not leaving now because you went through something horrible and are struggling with it. You're my best friend. Don't doubt that."

"John-" Sherlock started to say but trained off.

"You know what? It's fine. It's all fine. I'll stop. Do you want a cuppa? I still think there's food left too if you're still hungry," the other man said, trying to change the subject.

"John," Sherlock called in such a way that made the man in question stop and turn to his companion. "You should know, I don't consider you as a friend. You are much too valuable to me."

The doctor stared at him. "Yeah, I know. It's fine."

"No, it's-" Sherlock look distressed, like he couldn't find the words. "It's more than that. This is difficult. I don't do sentiment."

"Yeah, fine," John turned to walk into the kitchen.

Sherlock stood up and said, "Wait." He strode toward John who turned back around to see what his friend wanted now. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's torso and kissed him. It was just a press of mouth on mouth and he pulled back after a few moments.

John froze, "When I said partners-"

"Sorry. I-I know," Sherlock stammered as he looked away but he didn't remove his arms.

"No, it's fine. It's all fine. I-uh didn't mean those kind of partners," he said as he felt the other man loosened his arms.

Sherlock looked young as he continued avoiding John's gaze, "Please forget it."

"Let me finish. I didn't mean those kind of partners but that wasn't wholly unwelcome," the older man said as he laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed it. "Truthfully, I don't know if I would be here if I didn't feel anything more than just friendship toward you. I think I've been feeling it for a long time, even before you disappeared but you came back and you've had such a hard time adjusting and you haven't been yourself and-" he rambled.  
  
"Yes, I'm broken. Thank you for reminding me. What were you waiting for? Some sign I am the man you used to know? That I wouldn't self destruct?" Sherlock asked bitterly.

"Stop it. You were always prone to self destructing. Maybe it's in a different sense now but that's a part of you and that's not why I was waiting. You're hurting," he said, guiding Sherlock's face to look at him. "I didn't want to add to whatever chaos is inside your head while you were healing but if it helps, we can do this together. I will try to not make you do anything you really don't want to but we have to face this."

Sherlock looked up at John with eyes that seemed to have more hope than he's had lately, "I would like to begin a romantic relationship with you."

John smiled. "Alright."

"I won't change though. I'll still have experiments in the refrigerator and I'll get moody and not talk to you. I might not be able to fulfill your sexual needs," Sherlock started to sound panicked.

"Hey," John interrupted. "It's alright. We'll get there when we get there. I'm not jumping into bed with you yet anyway. You're not some one night stand I'm using to get off. I hope to be with you in that sense someday but I can wait until you're ready even if that's never. We can talk about it more down the line. I just want to watch some telly and go to bed."

Sherlock smiled. It was a great, beaming smile John hadn't seen since the detective returned. "Okay," he replied and kissed his doctor more enthusiastically than before. "I do like this though."

"I think I like it too," John replied. "And you better not put experiments in the fridge. That's why we bought a second one."

Sherlock grinned at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Finally together!


	6. Update

It's been a while since I updated and before that, I was pretty good at updating regularly. So what happened? Well, I lost some inspiration but I have other parts of the story together. I started classes again so I have less time to do stuff I want to do because I mean to get my work done on time but then I procrastinate and then that pushes back my other leisure activities so I've not had a lot of time to sit down and write. I have a ton of stuff to do so I hope that means I can get myself moving and I hope to slip some writing time into that.

I have not abandoned this fic, just put it on pause. Just thought it would be nice to put a small explanation out there.


End file.
